


just keep passing the open windows

by tripleleaf



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: M/M, morning musings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 21:29:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16773271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tripleleaf/pseuds/tripleleaf
Summary: Freddie is not a morning person.





	just keep passing the open windows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bablevees](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bablevees/gifts).



> Thanks for supporting and inspiring me, and for being the bestest friend over the internet that anyone could ask for. And yes, mornings suck.

Freddie stared at the ceiling with his eyes closed. He didn’t reach out to make the alarm shut the fuck up, because if it did, he would end up succumbing to the deadly allure of sleep. He briefly wondered what death would be like. After all, it’s just an eternal sleep. Shouldn’t that be blissful? Through his closed eyelids he could see the faint rays of light that had managed to penetrate through the windows and pasted themselves on the plastered ceiling. 

_ Early one mornin’ the sun was shinin’ _

Don’t worry about him, it’s not that Freddie wanted to die. He just sometimes pondered the idea and wished he could sleep until forevermore. Everyone did that. A healthy bit of contemplation about death every now and then, like it was already so near. He was, for the most part, okay.

Or was he?

He had these periods when he was overcome by a sudden unwillingness to everything. There was a mental block that made each day, no matter how exciting or promising, feel like a long winding slope through a dark tunnel. The good thing was it was never as bad as he had thought, and multiple times a day he would invariably find his reluctance and dread were all for nothing. The next morning, though, when the alarm started ringing, he would once again let it wail for another five minutes as he contemplated what death would feel like. Only a healthy amount, of course. 

_ Woke up, fell out of bed _

With some incredible force of will (that took the form of a flashback of being yelled at by the manager for being late for work for the  _ third time that week _ ), Freddie opened his eyes, slightly disappointed at the sight above him. It was exactly as he had remembered it from yesterday, and the day before, and the day and weeks before that, it seemed. He wasn’t sure he would feel any better if the patterns of sunlight on the ceiling changed, but it would be a change, for a change. A flick of the wrist: alarm, shut the fuck up. It was cold, not enough to warrant the itchy sensation of wearing socks to sleep, but more than enough to make the tiled floor of the flat the equivalent of a sloshing pool of lava. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he thought as he skipped his way to the bathroom, almost banging headfirst into the door, because for some reason the bloody bathroom door had to be transparent. 

_ Each morning I get up I die a little _

He started his morning routine with shaving, simply because one couldn’t afford to be sleepy or to fall asleep leaning against the sink if at that moment he happened to have a sharp blade in close proximity to his face. The good thing was it finally woke him up completely (as awake as one could be at half past six in the morning), albeit to an unevenly shaved jaw. He blinked at his reflection in the mirror. He looked like shit. 

_ My shaving razor’s cold, and it stings _

He brushed his teeth, out of sheer habit more than any concern for hygiene, and splashed some ice cold water onto his face. Ouch, Freddie, what the fuck was that for? a voice asked. Thank me later, he mentally replied.

Into the kitchen for breakfast. It’s Going To Be A Rice Day! An old Kellogg’s jingle suddenly played in his head. He shooed it away with a bite out of an overripe banana. No cereal today, he was getting pretty damn sick of it (the cereal here symbolized everything). Chugging milk straight from the carton, he tried to remember which day of the week it was. Does it matter? Not really. Definitely not the weekend though. There was a piece of paper pinned to the door of the refrigerator: “RENT DUE 15TH”. Now he really had to know the date, and by the time he finished the banana, he’d figured out that it was the 10th. Five days could last as long as an eternity, so no worries there.

He really had to get out of the house soon. Now onto the wardrobe. Skinny black jeans, a dark undershirt, moss green sweater, white cashmere scarf. Or the red woolly one? He decided to just skip the scarf, grabbed his bag without bothering to check it, and left the flat. 

It had been a bad year, he thought as he glided down the musty staircase, down into the damp, dark hallway, and out into the street. He was yet another year older, and he wasn’t getting anywhere in particular in life. Of course he was working hard towards the big break, but it all felt like a meaningless cycle, one he suspected the stream of people flowing towards the underground station with him at that moment were stuck in, too. A sharp gust of wind came out of nowhere and nearly knocked him off of his feet. “You’re an idiot,” he muttered, dearly regretting the scarf. This cursed London weather never failed to dampen everyone’s already sodden mood. 

_ Let me in, from the cold _

For some reason that fact struck him as quite funny. Miserable weather, miserable humour, that’s what John would say. Freddie pursed his lips to keep himself from giggling to himself in the middle of the busy street. It had completely slipped his mind that he was going to see John in the evening after work. Last time they met, they’d gotten into a rather heated debate about this saying that was the title of a song. It went something like this:

“Who would keep their windows open in this bloody weather? Who would even bother to notice if they’re open or closed?” Freddie questioned. 

“Look, Freddie, it doesn’t really matter. It’s just telling you to keep on walking, but every once in a while, look up to see whether the windows are open or closed. Little things like that. It can be quite funny, really, and you’ll feel better for the rest of your walk. Try that some time.”

“Checking other people’s windows is just as absurd as leaving the windows open in this bloody weather,” Freddie persisted.

“You’re an open window, you know,” John mused into his cup of cold coffee with that cryptic smile. And then they found other things for Freddie to rant about.

_ Just keep passing the open windows _

Freddie pushed his way through the sea of people to get into his train. He was decidedly not so cranky anymore. Mornings were absolutely fucking terrible, but they at least prepared him for the day ahead. If work wasn’t that boring, he wouldn’t find conversations with John that amusing. And in just another eight hours, Freddie would get to see John again.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
